Saturday, November 9, 2013

The cabin in the woods

The cabin in the woodsThe windows are frosted overand made of that primitive glassthat distorts every image but, through it,shivering in the dark, I see a roaring fire,a food-laden table, bottles of wine.Why can't we go inside? I askthe companion who brought me.In due course, he answers. Once we enter,he says, everything turns back to zero.Everything will cease to exist ...except that roaring fire which is,at this moment, oblivious to itself.We'll all go back ... to begin again.The only way for that fire to be glimpsed,to be desired and pursued,captured and savoredis for it to first be viewedfrom the outside looking in --through these narrow, muddled,distorting panes of glass.O child of God, every moment has its value.There is no place to get to. (Unpublished)